


Whatever It Takes

by indigo_carter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Year 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_carter/pseuds/indigo_carter
Summary: When Harry's name is drawn from the Goblet of Fire, everything in his life and Hermione's is about to change forever...Cross posted from my fanfiction.net account.It's been 4 years since I started this, but I've decided now is the time to get back into writing, and to get back into writing Harry Potter fanfic again!





	1. An Impartial Judge

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything except some of the plot quirks and any OCs who crop up! Everything else belongs to the genius who is JKR.

No matter how deep in books Hermione buried her head, one thing still lingered in the back of her mind. That trouble sought Harry as unerringly as an arrow striking a bull's eye, and that Harry couldn't always evade the trouble. She worried about him constantly and not even her thirst for knowledge could push it completely out of her mind. She shook her head violently, and her infamously bushy hair sprang out from where she had forcefully tucked it behind her ears.

Sighing, she carefully heaved the tome she was reading (Famous Witches and Wizards of the 15th to 17th Centuries) closed, and lugged it to the returns trolley. Smiling a goodbye at Madam Pince (regardless of what Harry and Ron might think, she had the best intentions and a heart of gold), she headed back to the common room, a heavy sense of dread beginning to settle in her stomach.

It was Halloween night, and the feast was due to begin in a matter of hours; going by previous form, it would not be an enjoyable evening. First year: cornered in a toilet and attacked by a troll. Second year: stumbled across Filch's petrified cat and best friend accused of the crime. Third year: a murderous lunatic broke into Gryffindor tower. And now some ancient and vicious competition – the Triwizard Tournament (whatever that was – all the books had been taken out of the library) – which had been banned for centuries (she personally suspected that it would involve some kind of barbaric and ritualistic torture of the combatants) was to be hosted at Hogwarts. Hermione was not amused. If there was even a hint of danger, Harry was guaranteed to be involved, whether he wanted to be or not.

As she climbed through the portrait hole ("Pumpkin pasty"), she noticed Harry staring miserably out of the window as Ron and Ginny played a loud and energetic game of exploding snap beside him. She sidled past them just as Ginny scored a particularly loud snap and snuck next to Harry. He started and peered at her, worry radiating from his eyes. Hermione knew they shared her concerns about this 'tournament' Dumbledore was so determined to push through and make a success of. Not even Harry could pretend that he wasn't a magnet for danger, and they had both had enough experience of his being in the hospital wing that they had an almost-limitless base for speculation around his possible injuries this time. Neither doubted that he would somehow be involved.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" Hermione knew her voice was barely more than a whisper, but since they were now crammed into the armchair by the window, she hardly needed to speak any louder.

"I'm fine, Hermione." He paused and looked at her. "Well ok, I'm not. But talking won't help anything. This year has to be better than last year. At least nothing's tried to suck out my soul. Yet." He tried to smile but the joke fell flat and he folded his arms. Hermione's hand slid into the crook of his elbow and squeezed the hand tucked under it.

***

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore cried. Hermione felt Harry go into lockdown beside her, and her gut reaction was to do the same. Logic told her things could only be sorted out if Harry got up.

"Harry, come on, you've got to go," she hissed, nudging him frantically. How his name had ended up in the goblet of fire was a complete mystery, as was much of Ron's current behaviour. Harry pushed back against her and staggered upright. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor as he tried to get to Dumbledore un-harassed by irate Hogwarts students. After what felt like a lifetime, Harry reached Dumbledore and was directed to the antechamber with the other champions. Hermione inserted a fingernail into her mouth and gnawed on it. Ron ignored her and her anxiety for the rest of the meal and started Dean off on an enthusiastic retelling of West Ham's most recent match. She sat in a bubble of concern throughout the rest of the meal, leaving early – conscious of the eyes following her back.

She sat nervously in the common room, unconsciously chewing on a tuft of hair and biting her nails, until Harry returned late that night, long after the rest of the house had gone to bed, white and shaking.


	2. The Aftermath of the Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter: Dry Your Eyes - The Streets

"Harry! What happened?" Hermione's eyes, which had been drifting to a close, were suddenly wide open, and her tired brain suddenly flooded with adrenaline. He looked like he'd just been told his life was over.

"I have to compete. Whoever put my name in the cup has really done me in this time, Hermione." Her heart plummeted and she weakly reached a hand out towards his where it lay on the back of the sofa next to her head. "I think I want to be alone, actually, Hermione." He turned and walked slowly up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Her hand fell to the back of the sofa and her eyes abruptly filled with tears. She lifted her hand, watching idly as it shook, and tugged on the elastic keeping her hair in check. As it bounced around her face, she covered her eyes with one hand and let a quiet, shuddering sob out. There had never been a time when he had shut her out before. This time, it was serious.

Eventually, the tears passed and she stood on weak legs and stumbled up the stairs to bed, falling instantly asleep as she got into bed. Her dreams were a parade of horrific tasks, each resulting in Harry being killed, losing a limb, being severely injured…she awoke feeling worse than she had the night before. As she descended the stairs, she became aware of a commotion in the common room. Harry and Ron were standing at either end of the common room, hollering at each other. A terrified Neville was huddled in the doorway to the girl's dorm, and Hermione squeezed past him, her temper pushing into gear. She hustled right past Harry and grabbed Ron by the upper arms, using her momentum and Fred's opportune entry through the portrait hole to remove him from the common room. He was so stunned that he dumbly followed her into an empty classroom and listened to her for the first time in his life as she laid into him.

"Ronald Weasley, what in the name of Merlin's pants do you think you are doing? Have you gone truly insane? This is your BEST FRIEND, and look at how you're treating him! Do you seriously think that Harry – Harry of all people! – would enter his name into this STUPID competition? Harry, who hates any attention, who actually doesn't like risking his life to save the rest of the wizarding community? Harry who HATES being forced in front of people to 'perform', and who doesn't NEED eternal fame and glory, OR the fortune? I don't know what IS going on in your head, Ronald, but I don't want a part of it. If you pulled your head out of your arse and thought about this without taking into account your own jealousy and ignorance, you would REALISE all this. Just because you would kill to have glory and to stand out and to have a fortune sitting in your account in Gringotts, it doesn't mean we ALL do." She turned and stalked away, slamming the door hard behind her as she did so. Turning towards the Great Hall, she spotted Fred and George coming towards her, bearing a stack of toast wrapped in napkins.

"Hey! Hermione! We were thinking -" began Fred.

"For once!" she grinned.

"- That Harry might not want to face the Great Hall this morning -" added George.

"- And that he might want a sympathetic ear -"

"- And that we don't do sympathy very well -"

"- But you do!" they finished together. She took a moment to let her brain process what they had just said, and then nodded.

"Thank you, you might need to talk to Ronald. He's being ridiculous. Did you see where Harry went?"

"Last I saw, he was heading back up to the dorm, if you hurry you might catch him on his way out!" Fred called after her hurriedly retreating back.

She arrived at the portrait slightly out of breath, just as Harry opened it, looking stony and miserable.

"Fancy a walk?" she offered her stack of toast, and a slight surge of relief shot through her as he smiled and nodded.

"Good idea." They hurried down the staircase and through the entrance hall without looking at the Great Hall, and were soon pacing around the lake, avoiding looking at the gloomy-looking Durmstrang ship where it floated near the northern bank. They sat, huddled in their cloaks, by a large tree, gazing at the part of the lake untainted by the reflection of the black ship, Harry telling a silent Hermione what had happened when he left the Great Hall the previous night.

"After you'd made me move, I honestly thought I was going to die. Everyone was staring at me. It wasn't even that bad in second year. I think that was the first time I wanted to curl up in a corner and die. The second was when I got into the antechamber and that Delacour girl came prancing up to me asking if they were needed back in the Great Hall in this awful bloody French accent like I was some messenger boy, and then Bagman got hold of me and was waving me around like some kind of flag – like it was a GOOD thing I was involved. Maxime and Karkaroff aren't amused. Not amused at all – they're saying it's a conspiracy to let Hogwarts have a better chance of winning – and then Moody weighed in saying that only a really strong confundus charm could have hoodwinked the cup, and that I must have been entered in a separate school to confuse the cup. McGonagall wanted me to withdraw, but Snape said in that slimy voice of his that we should 'see how events unfold' and Dumbledore agreed with him! Crouch is really suspicious, and Bagman's just…like a child who's been told Christmas has been brought forward by two months." He groaned and rested his forehead on his knees before wrapping his arms around his head. Hermione sat next to him, stunned. "And Delacour called me a little boy. I've never been more ashamed." His voice may have been muffled by his arms, but Hermione could hear the distinct edge of tears in his voice.

She shuffled a little closer and wrapped an arm loosely around his waist.

"If it makes you feel any better, I really laid into Ron earlier," she whispered in the approximate direction of his ear. "And then I set Fred and George on him." She giggled slightly at the memory, and she sensed rather than saw that Harry's head had risen up a bit with a hint of a smile on his face. When she turned to look at him, his chin was resting on his knees and his arms had slid halfway down his shins, his eyes fixed on her.

"You do believe me, Hermione? That I didn't put my name in the cup?"

"I know you didn't. Anyone with sense knows that," she sighed, "it's just that people who are jealous don't have any sense."

"Who's jealous?"

"Ronald for one, the rest of Hogwarts…Beaux Batons, Durmstrang…Hufflepuff will feel upstaged – although Cedric seems nice enough, so you might get away with that one – I don't know, Harry. A lot of people have cause to be jealous. You're famous. Your family's fortune is well known. You're not bad looking…you've got a lot going for you, and every time something happens, you're at the heart of it. They just…don't see the bad things. They don't see how hurt you get or how dangerous some of the situations are. They're blinded by jealousy…"

"What do I do now, Hermione?"

"Write to Sirius." Her voice was more certain than she'd intended. "He would want to know."

Together, they walked back to the castle, managing to find things to laugh at and falling back into a semblance of their normal friendship, unmarred by jealousy and tournaments.


	3. From Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter: Save You - Kelly Clarkson

They stepped into the Owlery in silence, Harry haven fallen quiet a few minutes previously, clearly thinking hard about what to write to Sirius, and Hermione had been grateful for the reprieve. There was only so long that she could keep the tremor of worry from her voice. She produced parchment, quill and ink from her bag, and, passing them to Harry, began to look at the selection of owls on offer. Hedwig swooped down as Harry slumped against the wall, and perched precariously on his knee. Hermione watched as he rubbed her head idly, and uncapped the ink bottle. Dipping the quill into the ink, he began to write. She pointedly turned her back and wandered to the far end of the Owlery to give him some space. She ached for him. The worry and agitation was already starting to show in his face…Hermione stopped her train of thought and returned her focus to the owls, choosing one as she heard Harry snap the lid back onto the ink bottle.

He rolled up the parchment and looked at Hermione as she stepped towards him, a sturdy-looking barn owl on her arm, its leg out ready to receive its load. Hedwig took off in a flurry of loose feathers and hooted dolefully at him from the rafters. The school barn owl took off sedately, and Harry cast an irritated glance at Hedwig.

"This isn't my fault!" Hermione sighed heavily and grabbed Harry's elbow, frogmarching him from the room. In single file they navigated the slippery stairs, each silently engaged with their own thoughts. At the bottom, Hermione grasped his wrist.

"Harry, you can't do this by yourself." He blinked at her and pulled his wrist away. "Harry, you've got to talk to me…" he looked at her, his eyes dull. It felt like he'd given up. Hermione felt her own eyes well with frustrated tears. "Harry James Potter, you cannot give up now."

"Hermione, I haven't given up."

"Well…then…talk to me. Sometimes you need someone else to lean on. And if Ronald is going to be deliberately ignorant, then you're going to have to lean on me," she grit her teeth and looked him straight in the eye, "Whether you like it or not." She folded her arms crossly and glared at him in a way she only normally used on potions which refused to do what they were supposed to. He reached out a hand and briefly covered the fingers resting on her elbow.

"I will. But not now." She shrugged off his fingers and turned her back, stalking off with precision. "Hermione, where are you going?"

"This way."

"We have Herbology now."

"I don't care. I'll go the long way." She knew she was being childish, but she hoped it would bring Harry out of his funk. She heard a quiet groan and felt a hand slip around her waist.

"No, you won't, because you'll be late. And you hate being late."

"Fine." She stuck her nose in the air and tried to turn around, only to trip over Harry's feet.

"Blimey, Hermione! You'll be the one needing someone to lean on if you carry on like this!" he laughed quietly and tugged on a loose tangle of her hair. "Come on."

It was a cold morning, but there was a distinct hard edge to the air in their greenhouse which was not caused by the weather. The Hufflepuffs were not amused. Hermione planted herself firmly between Harry and Ron as they re-potted Bouncing Bulbs, and made an effort to maintain conversation, knowing that if she did not, the silence would drive her insane. Despite the talking-to she'd given Ron that morning, he still responded to her normally, and Harry, having acknowledged the unpleasant aura surrounding the Hufflepuff students, was trying his best to ignore it and carry on as normal. This was easier said than done, and Hermione had to restrain herself from slapping Ernie and Justin when they laughed derisively at Harry when a Bouncing Bulb escaped his grasp and hit him hard in the face. Fortunately, Herbology was soon over, and they escaped to Care of Magical Creatures. It only appeared to be an escape until Hermione remembered who they were grouped with for the lesson. Slytherin. Today was not going to end well.

Hermione gave a sigh of relief when Hagrid called the class to order. One look at Harry's face was enough to tell her that his dignified silence wouldn't hold much longer in the face of Malfoy's taunts. As the class began, Hagrid called Harry to one side. Hermione felt her face relax as she realised she wasn't alone in wanting the best for Harry. After an eventful session in which most members of the class were burned, bruised and battered by the Blast-Ended Skrewts, Hermione waited quietly for Harry to finish talking to Hagrid, and they made their way back to the castle a way behind the rest of the students.

"Well?" Hermione only managed to refrain from speaking until they were out of earshot of Hagrid.

"Well what?" She sighed and rolled her eyes, digging her elbow into Harry's ribs.

"Well, what does Hagrid think?"

"He thinks everything happens to me." His tone was dull and flat, and Hermione swung around in front of him and planted her hands on her hips.

"But does he believe you? That's the important thing! Harry, he's right that everything happens to you! There's no point getting all dejected over it, you just have to deal with it!"

"You try it, Hermione."

"I am! I'm here with you, aren't I? What more do you want, Harry? There is nothing else I can do!" She felt heated tears begin to fill her eyes and brushed them away impatiently. He stared at the ground, his lips moving, but Hermione couldn't catch what he was saying over the thundering of her heart in her ears. "If you're going to talk to me, you're going to have to do it louder than that."

"I said I'm sorry and that I know you're doing your best. It's just so hard to have them all look at me. Not even the Ravenclaws are supporting me because they think I deliberately upstaged the Hufflepuffs the one time they had a chance at glory."

"I know, Harry, but there's nothing we can do about that now."

"Why does Ron think I want to do this, again?"

"What Ronald thinks is neither here nor there. If he wants to be an idiot, let him." They fell into an uncomfortable silence in which both stood stock still, blind to the strange looks they were being given. Almost as one they looked at each other and began to speak.

"You first."

"No, you go on."

"I…you're right. I'm sorry I was being an idiot. Forgive me?" Hermione smiled.

"I already have. Forgive me for being pushy?"

"Already did."


	4. Out of the Cauldron

It had been a tough few days. Harry had hate pouring down on him from all sides, and Hermione, as his sole side-kick (the twins were most often to be seen harassing Ron about his behaviour), got even more. While Harry was being taunted by everyone, Hermione was facing concentrated hate from the Slytherin girls. Why, exactly, they thought that telling her she was ugly and stupid was going to hurt her, she didn't know, especially since she was confident in her intelligence and her looks didn't bother her…much. So when she and Harry arrived for Potions the following Friday, neither were in a good mood, especially since the other houses had started flashing petty badges around – clearly someone with little imagination had been put in charge of the slogans. Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought that someone with half a brain could have come up with something better than "Potter stinks". As if it wasn't already bad enough that Harry was dealing with Ronald being an idiot, his own internal struggles, as well as a distinct lack of response from Sirius, the school was ganging up on him too. Hermione was seething at the injustice of it all, but she knew better than to try and offer Harry anything more than company.

Naturally, the first person Hermione saw in the corridor was Malfoy, but he looked unusually discomfited as Crabbe and Goyle muscled up to Harry, beginning to slur half-formed abuse at him. Harry appeared to disregard their pathetic attempts, and rounded on Draco. Hermione could see what was going to happen long before it did. Harry pulled his wand out of his robes with a practiced flourish, but Draco just stood there. She watched as he braced slightly against the wall, and Harry's hand lowered in confusion. Crabbe had been fumbling for his wand while attention had been focussed elsewhere, and now Harry was on the receiving end of a curse. Hermione thanked her lucky stars for his quick reactions as he cast a hex back. She wasn't thanking them for long, though, as the two spells collided in mid-air and ricocheted off each other. Crabbe's curse was flying towards her faster than she could think, but she caught a glimpse of the red light of Harry's hex flying towards Goyle just as the one destined for him hit her full in the face. Within seconds she felt her teeth begin to grow, pushing over her lower lip and edging towards her chin. Goyle's reaction was almost as instantaneous – boils began springing up all over his face and he let out a muffled groan of pain. She felt panic rising in her chest as she put her hand to her front teeth and felt that they were rapidly encroaching on her collar. Snape appeared from around the door and stood impassively, gazing at the scene of carnage before him. Malfoy shrank along the wall and appeared to be trying to become invisible.

"Goyle, Granger, hospital wing. Potter, Crabbe, ten points from each of you. Now enter the room silently and take your places. You should…" Snape's voice faded as Hermione turned and dashed away from the Potions room, Goyle close on her heels.

As they entered the hospital wing, Hermione could almost hear the cogs turning in Goyle's head as he tried to think of something insulting to say. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey hurried out of her office and bustled them each on to separate beds on opposite sides of the ward. She waved a hand, and one of the potions cabinets burst open, and one of the potions flew into her hand.

"Here, drink this. That should clear your face." Goyle drank, spluttering. Madam Pomfrey glared at him, and stepped quickly to Hermione, Summoning a mirror as she did so. Performing some very complicated magic very quickly, she reduced the size of Hermione's teeth, just as they threatened to pass the second button on her shirt.

"Just say when they reach their normal size, dear." Hermione watched as her teeth shrank rapidly towards where they usually were, and then let them carry on until they reached a size she preferred.

"There's fine, thank you."

"All right then my love, off you go. Mr Goyle, if you'd be so kind as to stay where you are, I need to assess the spell-damage."

Hermione stepped lightly away from the hospital wing, unable to stop her tongue from running over the surface of her new teeth. She was happily considering the prospect of a free double period (it was highly unlikely that Snape would be anticipating her return to the Potions class) in the library, when she heard raised voices echoing down the corridor ahead of her. Stopping in her tracks, she listened hard. McGonagall was clearly ill-at-ease and highly irritated. Dumbledore was trying to calm her and reconcile with someone who was getting very excited and squeaky.

"I tell you, Skeeter is the best person to do these interviews. Her readership is simply fantastic and if anyone can get anything, any dirt, on any of these golden, chosen ones, it's her!"

"Dirt, Bagman?" McGonagall's voice dripped with cool disdain and distaste. "These are school children, and I would thank you to remember that. They are altogether too young to be exposed like that to the general public. This is an enclosed, high-risk, international competition and there is threat enough without involving the wider wizarding world." McGonagall's icy logic and clear head cut through Bagman's half-formed thoughts and he was apparently left silent. Hermione crept closer to the corner and peered around it. Dumbledore looked confused and slightly anxious, off to one side, while McGonagall was standing straight-backed, arms folded, glaring through her glasses at Bagman. He looked even more like a child now than he had at the Quidditch World Cup. Clearly cowed by the telling-off he had just received, he stood hunch-shouldered, wringing his hands before his slight pot-belly.

"The thing is, Minerva, she's already here."

"Already here? Dumbledore, please tell me you didn't authorise this? This is an outrage! A gossip columnist reporting on students? You do understand what a mess she is going to make of this job, do you not?" By now, Bagman was beginning to turn an unattractive shade of puce, and Dumbledore was looking vaguely sheepish. Hermione was certain that if this conversation hadn't pertained to Harry, she would have broken down into giggles already. Just as Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, he raised his eyes, and met hers staring curiously around the corner.

"Miss Granger! Whatever are you doing there? Aren't you meant to be in class?"

"Yes, sir, but there was an…altercation outside Potions, and Crabbe…I got hit by a spell and sent to the hospital wing."

"This is not the way back to the dungeons, Miss Granger." Dumbledore lowered his chin and surveyed her over the top of his half-moon glasses.

"I…no, sir. It isn't. Professor Snape was testing us on antidotes this class, sir, and I've missed out on a quarter of the making time."

"And where, may I ask, were you heading now?"

"To the library, sir. To do some reading on antidotes and their composition. I was going to write Professor Snape an essay on common and uncommon antidotes."

"Hmm, off you go, Miss Granger."

"Yes, sir. Umm, sir, I couldn't help over hearing…shouldn't the champions be accompanied by a professor, sir? Or Harry at the very least – he is under age after all."

"A very good idea, Miss Granger. Professor, would you be so kind as to go with Mr Bagman and accompany Mr Potter when Ms Skeeter interviews him? That should afford him some protection, should it not?" McGonagall nodded stiffly and swept before Bagman back up the corridor. "As for you, Miss Granger, I shall accompany you back to the dungeons, and I'll ask Professor Snape to afford you some leniency on your antidote."

"Thank you, sir." In almost dead silence, Hermione and Dumbledore walked back to the Potions room. As she placed her hand on the door, Dumbledore raised a finger and pointed delicately at her teeth.

"Miss Granger, are my eyes deceiving me, or are your teeth…?"

"Smaller, sir?"

"Yes…I suppose that would be the word…"

"Yes, sir, they are." Hermione flushed a deep red, and opened the door without further explanation. Harry sat with Neville, flinching as his bench-mate furiously poked at the bottom of his cauldron, producing electric-purple sparks. Ronald was on the next bench over, working with Seamus and Dean. Things there didn't seem to be going any better. Dumbledore took hold of her elbow and steered her over to where Snape was sitting, marking seventh-year essays on the complexities of the wolfs-bane potion. While Dumbledore talked to Snape, Hermione couldn't help her eyes drifting over to the Slytherin tables. Draco looked even paler than usual, and appeared to be on edge. She was curious as to why he appeared so ill-at-ease among the Slytherins, and then noticed that Pansy Parkinson had her wand pointed at his back over the top of her cauldron. Belatedly, she drew her own wand, but not before Parkinson had sent a spell at Draco's back. He collapsed, narrowly avoiding the burner under his cauldron, and hit the floor with a quiet 'whump'. Hermione dashed over, ignoring the shrieks of the Slytherin girls and menacing growls of the boys, and rested her fingers at his throat.

"Sir! He's not breathing and he hasn't got a pulse!" Parkinson backed over her stool and tripped into Crabbe's cauldron as Snape and Dumbledore rushed across the classroom. Dumbledore passed his wand over Draco's limp form and with a flash of green light apparently revived him. At that moment, the door of the chamber flew open, and Colin Creevey fell in.

"Professor McGonagall wants to see Harry Potter!" Snape's lip drew into a smirk and he indicated that Harry should leave with one finger, before returning his attention to the injured boy lying in the middle of his classroom. Hermione was torn – to quietly track Harry, or to tell Dumbledore what she had seen. The latter won, and she snuck closer to the headmaster than she had ever dared before.

"Sir," she whispered, "sir, I saw who did it." Dumbledore's head flicked up.

"Who?"

"Pansy Parkinson – she had her wand aimed at his back over the top of her cauldron, sir."

"This is a very grave matter, Miss Granger. If this is a falsehood…"

"It isn't, sir."

"Very well, Miss Granger. Thank you for informing me. Could you please go to Professors Sprout and Flitwick, and take a message to Professor McGonagall in the smallest Charms classroom on the third floor, at the end of the Charms corridor."

As Hermione dashed from the classroom, she was innocently ignorant to the changes already beginning to creep through Hogwarts.


	5. Into The Fire

Arriving slightly out of breath at the smallest charms classroom, Hermione found the door blocked by a sheepish looking Professor Sprout.

  
“I’m sorry, dear, but I really can’t let you in. Ms Skeeter-” here the kindly professor’s face twisted into something resembling a scowl “-demanded complete privacy. It was with much argument and threats of force that Minnie got in with Mr Potter!” Hermione raised an eyebrow at the herbology professor’s slip.

  
“I’ve been sent here with a message from Professor Dumbledore, Professor.” Hermione felt nerves curdle in the pit of her stomach.

  
“And what is the message, Miss Granger?” Flitwick’s voice floated from around the corner.

  
“It was for both of you, Professors, and for Professor McGonagall too. Malfoy was just attacked by Pansy Parkinson in the middle of potions class. Professor Dumbledore revived him, but he wanted me to fetch you.” The professors exchanged concerned looks and then turned to Hermione.

  
“We shall go down to the dungeons now, Miss Granger. I fear Professor McGonagall will have to remain with Mr Potter for the duration; that Skeeter woman seems determined to undermine him in some way!” Professor Flitwick’s voice became even more squeaky as he mentioned Rita Skeeter. “You’d better go in before Mr Ollivander begins the wand weighing ceremony.” Hermione blinked in surprise before nodding and cautiously turning the door knob. As she pushed the door open, she heard the hurried footsteps and muffled whispers of the professors making their way down to the dungeons.

  
Hermione stepped quietly into the room, her nerves shattered and heart thrumming like a bird. Harry and the other competitors were sat in a carefully composed arrangement, McGonagall hovering like a disgruntled bat just out of sight of the camera’s unblinking eye as a photographer for the Daily Prophet barked directions at them. The infamous Rita Skeeter stood off to one side, her crimson talons clutching a crocodile-skin bag to her magenta robes, leering at the students from behind her jewelled glasses with an expression worryingly like hunger.

  
“Lovely,” she drawled, “just _lovely_. I wonder if I may have a little word with Harry before we start?” She directed her question at Ludo Bagman, who lurked in a corner like a bulbous toad. “The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of colour?” But it wasn't Bagman who replied.

  
“If you wish to talk to Mr Potter,” interrupted McGonagall, “you shall do so in my presence. He is, as you well know, underage.” The look she fixed on Skeeter brooked no argument and the other woman relented with as much dignity as she could master.

  
“Of course,” she simpered, teeth showing like a shark. “If we could all just…step this way. _Lovely_.” She caught hold of Harry’s arm and dragged him towards a door in the corner of the room. McGonagall followed close on their heels, and Hermione trailed after, helplessly trying to gain the professor’s attention. As the unlikely quartet squeezed into the cupboard which lay behind the door, she got far more attention than she anticipated.

  
“Miss Granger?” The professor enquired querulously. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

  
“I…the headmaster sent me with a message, Professor.”

  
“And being determined to deliver said message you decided to follow me into a cupboard?”

  
“Yes, Professor, but I really don't think I can say what it is…” Hermione cast a pointed look at the magenta-clad witch who was eagerly sucking on the end of a green quill.

  
“Oh very well!” Sighed the professor, somewhat grumpily. “Ms Skeeter, I trust we can do this quickly?” The other witch nodded, and, surprisingly swiftly rattled off a few questions at Harry, ignored his answers while the quill wrote its own interpretation, and then, faster than McGonagall could snatch the parchment, tucked everything into her bag.

  
“Lovely, shall we rejoin the others?” She winked at Harry, who shuddered and reached for Hermione’s elbow as they sidled in single file out of the cupboard. The other champions and their head teachers were gazing in bemusement at the mismatched group as they emerged. The elderly, hunched figure of Ollivander hurried forward.

  
“Professor McGonagall, if we may begin…?”

  
“Of course, may I introduce Mr Ollivander? He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition before the tournament.” She sank into a chair and gestured to the old man to begin.

  
“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you forward first, please?” The delicate French girl swept over to him and presented her wand. Ollivander twirled it between his fingers and it emitted a display of pink and gold sparks. Then, he held it close to his large, pale eyes and examined it closely. “Yes,” he said quietly, “nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…”

  
“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a Veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.” Hermione rolled her eyes at that. No wonder every boy in the castle wanted to be by her side; they literally couldn't help themselves!

  
“Yes,” Ollivander continued. “Yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands…however, each to their own, and if this suits you…” Hermione studied his movements as he ran his fingers along the wand, seeming to check for scratches and bumps, before he muttered, “ _Orchideous_!” And a bunch of orchids burst from the wand tip. He held out the bundle of delicate flowers and the wand to Fleur. “Very well, it's in fine working order,” he said as she took them from him. “Mr Diggory, you next.”Hermione watched as Ollivander repeated the process with Diggory’s twelve-and-a-quarter inch ash wand with a unicorn core before becoming aware of Harry next to her trying to run his wand clean in his robes. Gold sparks showered from the end and fell on her arm, tingling as they settled on her skin.

  
“Harry!” She hissed. “Stop it!” From a few chair over, Fleur was watching him scornfully and shaking her head slightly. Ollivander set a stream of silver smoke rings from the end of Cedric’s wand before handing it back to him.

  
"Mr Krum, if you please.” The quiddich star slouched over to him and thrust his wand at the old man. “Ah, a Gregorovich creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, but his styling is…rather different from my own. Hornbeam and…dragon heartstring, rather thicker than one usually sees…ten and a quarter inches…Avis!” With a blast like a gun, a small cloud of bickering birds burst from the end of Krum’s wand. Hermione stored that particular spell away in the recesses of her mind. “Good,” the wandmaker continued. “And that leaves…Mr Potter.” Hermione caught hold of Harry’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze as he got to his feet and handed over his wand. “Oh, yes,” the old man sighed, his moon-like eyes glinting. “How well I remember…” it seemed to Hermione that Mr Ollivander spent far longer examining Harry’s wand than anyone else's, but eventually he made a geyser of wine shoot from the end of it and announced himself satisfied.

  
“Thank you all,” McGonagall said, rising from her seat. “As lessons are about to end, you may head straight down to dinner. Miss Granger, I think you had something you wanted to say to me?” As the room cleared, Harry lingered by the door and Hermione approached their head of house.

  
“Yes, Professor. There was an incident in potions. Pansy Parkinson cursed Malloy. Professor Dumbledore revived him, and then asked me to fetch Professors Sprout and Flitwick and let you know.” Hermione quailed under the steely look McGonagall levelled at her.

  
“Perhaps this should have been mentioned earlier in proceedings, Miss Granger.”

  
“But…!” Hermione began to protest but the glare sent her way stopped her.

  
“I understand why you didn't interrupt, don't misunderstand me, but this is a very big problem. Take Potter down to dinner. I'll fetch you later if necessary.” The older witch strode from the room, her robes swirling about her. Hermione stood, at a loss, in the middle of the room.

  
“Come on, ‘Mione.” Harry stifled a yawn. “I need to eat.” The pair of them stumbled down to dinner and ate in silence before heading up to the dormitory.

  
“Don't forget you need to practise your Summoning charm,” Hermione was saying as they stepped through the portrait hole, before falling silent. Ron was storming towards them, an unpleasant look on his face.

  
“You've got an owl.” He pushed past Harry and ignored Hermione entirely as he clambered out of the common room. They exchanged looks – part exasperation and part excitement. The owl could only be from Sirius! Harry dashed up to the dormitory and soon returned with the letter in his hands. The pair of them squeezed into their favourite, enormous arm chair by the window and read Sirius’ note together:

 __  
Harry –  
I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted – we need to talk, face to face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o’clock in the morning in the 22nd November?  
I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, but there are more people in the castle who may try to hurt you. Do not trust anyone, especially Karkaroff – he used to be a Death Eater. I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you, not with Dumbledore and Moody around, but that doesn't mean they won't try.  
Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me about about the 22bd November as quickly as you can.  
Sirius


End file.
